


At The Club

by Osprayhurricane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 22:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17671181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osprayhurricane/pseuds/Osprayhurricane





	At The Club

 Fall Prey To My Love Tonight

 Cherry Pink, Sweet Tart

 

  _Gold, blue, pink; shoulders, chest, waist in perfect Vitruvian proportions, a genetic miracle; green and blue plaid, plaid is good, is it good? Why is it good?; licks lips; smile tilts up on left side, licks lips again, pointed tongue tip; leaning forward, elbows on the counter, licking lips, pink lips, pink. Pink, creamy amaranth, lavender with tinges of lemonade, wait what? Eyelashes, swooping over cobalt, royal, Egyptian. Blue. So blue. All the blue._

 

 the tip of his blush-pink tongue flicking out. “Okay. What’s your name?”

 

Well, if the high-pitch giggle was anything to go on, he was an idiot like the rest of them.

 

 

 

 

 

Dark Impulses and Illusion of Control

 

John knows his harsh staring is probably noticed by half the writhing mass of club goers. Not quite the inconspicuous undercover work he was asked to perform by Sherlock, but then again at least four other men sitting at the same bar as John are also fixed on the luscious sight taking place across the room.

There, tipsy and giggling, Sherlock is dances, his eyes are closed and his long thin neck is tipped back, chocolate fluffy curls tumbling about, and every part of his bared milk white skin sparkling under the club's colored lights. He sashays his skinny hips, swaying to the pop song playing - and even from here John can see the tempting jiggle of those illegally plump ass globes - dancing as if it's only him in the entire world, as if there's not a hoard of other people, mostly men, who aren't swarming around him.

Of course, John knows better than to believe that sense of innocence the pale twink is putting off. 

He downs the rest of his drink in one gulp and gives a low growl when a particularly bold man puts his hand on the small of Sherlock's back, a mere centimeter above Sherlock's absolute best feature, which absolutely belongs to _John_.

He's knocked back half a dozen and looks well on his way to needing another six in order to get through this god awful night. 

It's for a case - of course - but John doesn't care. It's Valentine's Day and he had _plans_. Wonderful, extensive plans with his clever beauty of a boyfriend. Plans which involved the myriad of ways John would take him apart for hours on end, relentlessly, mercilessly, _entirely._ Only to have those plans dashed when, hours after their pre-dawn fuck, the younger finally wakes up only to announce he needs to d for all those plans to come crashing down when around noon time, when hours after they'd begun the festivities in the pre-dawn hours when hours after they had begun the day's festivities  Those plans become ruined.

 

Stretching open his lush ripe hole 

He moves to twirl himself in place when he suddenly catches himself, gasps, his face crumpling in that similar way that reminded John of how the younger had looked when they found their release together, Sherlock arching painfully beneath him, screaming, and John 

Is

To run survelliance on a suspect. Only 

He'd roared 

buries his pleasure deep inside Sherlock

Hours after

His only solace he can take is in how Sherlock's movements are small and jerky, far flung from 

 

Fuck. His dick is hard and aching in the confines of his trousers. He gives a soft grunt as he tries to adjust himself without being too noticeable about it. He points to his empty glass and 

 

He's no longer brimming with fury. Now he's horny. Blood-pounding He smirks

 

and most of them it seems, swarming the mild-white beauty. 

they stumble into the jail cell, entirely unconcerned with the fact that Lestrade will likely be furious in the morning. They're both too drunk to think of it, anyway.  
   
No, right now, they'd like to get back to where they were before they were so rudely interrupted by a security guard for being a 'public disturbance'. How laughable. Since when is kissing in a dance club considered a 'public disturbance'?   
   
Okay, admittedly, it may have been more than kissing. Sherlock may or may not have pulled John into his lap and started grinding against his ass, and Sherlock's hand, meanwhile, may or may not have been rubbing John through his tented jeans.   
   
Which is why, currently, Sherlock is holding John up against a white brick wall in a drunk tank at the local police station, with his tongue down John's throat and his dick aching in his slacks. And why, though the male gaurd sitting at the desk is watching them intently, Sherlock and John undress haphazardly and slobber all over each other.  
   
With John already loose from an earlier...erm, bedroom row...it's easy for Sherlock to slide into him after John's salivated all over his cock. And quite easy, despite his state inebriation, to let John cling to him, and for Sherlock to fuck him senseless against the wall.   
   
Each thrust sends a tiny, mindless exhale out of John's body, in tune with Sherlock's own rapid breathing. And maybe it's how drunk he is, but when he looks off to his left at the officer watching them, he swears he sees the man at the desk touching himself to their dirty doings.  
   
Not like Sherlock minds. He's always had a thing for being watched in this way. For being desired but not touched. It makes him feel powerful. Just like when John lets him do this - hold him to the wall with a hand around John's throat and Sherlock roughly burying himself deep inside the veteran.   
   
Suddenly, Sherlock finds a heat pooling in the bottom of his belly, feels the pressure against the base of his dick, and his mouth slowly opens as his eyes roll back and close and he cums inside his mate with a primal growl. Without removing John from the skewer that is Sherlock's member, the detective latches his teeth onto John's jaw and begins stroking the man possessively.  
   
Pornography-worthy cries of pleasure escape John's throat as he nears his climax, and just before he's about to cum as well, Sherlock locks eyes with the officer at the desk, who is now fully, dick-out-of-his-pants-and-in-his-hand, jacking off to the sight of Sherlock asserting such dominance.   
   
Sherlock whispers to John that they have a watcher, which elicits an enthusiastic moan from the shorter man as he sprays white ropes across Sherlock's chest. The gaurd cums at the same time without a sound, mouth hanging agape and hooded eyes glued to John and Sherlock.  
   
To anyone else possibly watching, it would be quite the sight.  
   
And again, Sherlock and John are far too drunk to care that now they've got yet another problem - no change of clothes.  
   
Oh, well. Lestrade's seen much stranger.

 

  
They say love is pain, well darling, let’s hurt tonight  
John had slowly been walking to Sherlock as he sang and when he finished the last verse, John gently took the violin, set in safely in its case before turning back to Sherlock. “Just for tonight,” John warned before he crushed Sherlock in his arms, it was at this moment that John Watson finally started sobbing.  
“Shhh, I won’t ever leave again I swear.”  
John slowly started to calm as Sherlock held him tightly rubbing soothing circles on his lower back. When he pulled back from Sherlock it felt almost as if lighting had struck. They moved towards each other so quickly, teeth clashed, shirts were torn in the rush to get them off. Flesh met flesh, Sherlock guided them over to John’s armchair where he sat down bringing John with him, straddling his lap. John kissed his way down Sherlock’s neck to his chest where he slowly played with each nipple. Sherlock was moaning softly, but put a hand to stop John before he could continue his quest south.  
“John, can I be inside you?”  
“Fuck Sherlock,” John hissed between his teeth but he nodded his head. Sherlock leaned over to reach for his pants and pulled out a small tube of lube. He gestured for John to lean up, he slipped a slicked up finger back behind John’s balls, and slowly circled his hole. He pressed his finger against and let it suck his finger inside, he cast his eyes to John’s face, his eyes were close and he had an expression on his face that if Sherlock didn’t know better seemed as though he was committing all of the sensations to a mind palace. It didn’t take long for John to be ready, he opened his eyes. His pupils were completely blown, he had a slight seen on his skin, and his hair was sticking up. Sherlock thought he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, a sudden ache in his chest remembering all the lonely nights, thinking about John, about this, but even though he had committed every memory he had of John to his mind palace, it could never compare to having the man in his arms.  
“Come on Sherlock please,” John said softly. Sherlock gripped John’s hips and lifted him onto his cock. There was minute of resistance and then he popped past the band of resistance and he was breaking apart inside of John. There were so many things he wanted to say, but Sherlock found it almost impossible to speak. It was just as intense as it had been their very first time.  
“John,” it was all he could manage as the pace was sped up and he found himself reaching for John’s cock, as soon as he made contact John whimpered in a way that broke Sherlock’s heart. Sherlock knew they would both be coming soon and he had no idea what would happen after so he pulled John towards him holding him in a bear hug as he thrust a few more times and stilled. John made no attempt to move off, and Sherlock wrapped his hand back around his cock and gave it a few elegant strokes John was coming in moments screaming Sherlock’s name like it was a curse and a prayer.


End file.
